


Lightning Strike

by Brenda



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, F/M, Meet-Cute, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: Her lips curve invitingly, and she sticks out her hand. "Officer Peggy Carter.""Serial protester Steve Rogers." Her skin is satin-smooth, but her grip is as strong as oak. "Wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances."Or: Skinny!Steve and Peggy meet cute at a protest :)
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	Lightning Strike

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a long time about for a Tumblr prompt and finally posting it: _How about Steve/Peggy, young/youthified Peggy in the present time? Love your Stucky, like to see what you'd do with Pegs._

Steve comes to with a wince and a low groan and the world's worst headache trying to pound its way through his skull. The surface beneath him is flat and faintly scratchy, and he can smell sharp antiseptic in the air. Infirmary, then. Or maybe the ER. Although it doesn't sound like a hospital – it's way too quiet and doesn't reek of piss and desperation.

He cracks open both eyes and squints. Instead of bright fluorescent light hitting his eyes, he's met with a pair of warm, concerned brown eyes framed by a heart-stoppingly gorgeous face. "'M still unconscious?" he mumbles, because there's no way he's not dreaming right now.

Although, even in his dreams, he's never conjured up a girl as drop-dead as the one before him.

Soft, amused laughter greets his ears. "I don't think so. Although you did hit your head pretty hard," she adds, her voice whiskey-smooth and very British.

He reaches back, feels the knot just under his hair, and groans. It's all slowly coming back to him now, like a kaleidoscope morphing into an actual picture – the rally, the counter-protesters, getting separated from Bucky and Sam in the crowd, the girl who'd been trying to get away from the guy who'd been twice her size...

"You alright?" Those concerned eyes soften, and a cool hand impersonally touches his forehead. "I can get Clint – the EMT – to check on you again, if you like."

"You're not the EMT?" he asks, then actually turns his gaze enough to take in what she's wearing. Navy-blue uniform, brunette curls pulled back into a bun at her nape, and a peaked cap resting by her hip. "Fuck, am I under arrest?"

"I don't know, have you done anything warranting an arrest?" she asks, clearly amused.

"I don't think so," he says, and struggles to sit up. "Well, this week, at least."

She offers her hand as a ballast and he accepts it, his pride for once not getting the better of him. And now that he's somewhat vertical, he notices he's in the back of an ambulance. At least his injury isn't too serious, if he's still (he assumes) on site and not on his way to a hospital right now. Bucky and Sam must be worried sick, though.

"If you're not here to arrest me, then why are you here?" He makes an aborted gesture at her, and sighs to himself. It's just his luck he meets the prettiest girl he's seen in ages, and he's too banged up to appreciate it. Not that anyone as gorgeous as her would ever go for someone like him. He knows what he looks like on his best day, with his slender build and eyes that are much too large for his angular face - and this is definitely not a good day.

"I'm here to get your statement," she tells him. "In case you wanted to press charges against the man who threw the bottle at you."

"Oh." He blinks, stunned. "That's a first."

"A first for...?"

"It's just, normally, I'm the one getting hauled off to booking and the other guy's giving the statement," Steve says, with a small, self-conscious shrug. "Occupational hazard, I guess."

"I suppose so." Her lips curve invitingly, and she sticks out her hand. "Officer Peggy Carter."

"Serial protester Steve Rogers." Her skin is satin-smooth, but her grip is as strong as oak. "Wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances."

She makes a small affirming noise, then pulls out her notebook. "Do you think you're up for telling me what happened, in your own words?"

He could listen to her talk all day. "Sure." 

Some details are still a little fuzzy, but he does the best he can. She doesn't get impatient and she doesn't try to ask any leading or incriminating questions – instead, she listens and only pauses him twice to clarify something he'd said, and gently nudges him back on course when he starts to veer off a little too much. But all too soon, she's closing her notebook, and giving him another smile.

"Thank you."

"Uh, you're welcome." Looking at her smile is like getting a really nice, long hug. He never wants to look away from it.

"And, this is off the record, but I just want you to know that what you did – going back to help that girl get to safety – was very brave."

He ducks his head and shrugs. "Anyone would've done the same."

"Except not anyone did," she replies, then straightens. "I should tell Clint you're awake. He'll probably want to have another look at you before your friends can take you home."

"Sam and Bucky are here?" Saves him the trouble of calling them, although he knows he'll be getting a lecture from Bucky all the way home about his stupid, reckless behavior: _you need a leash, Rogers, I swear to God, I can't take you anywhere_. Steve can recite it in his sleep.

"Yes, they're giving their own statements," she replies. "I promised I wouldn't keep you long."

"I wouldn't mind if you did," Steve replies honestly, then flushes hot. "I'm sorry, that must sound incredibly creepy."

"Not at all," she replies, and there's something there in her tone, something that might could be encouragement? Maybe it is, Steve thinks. Maybe she is actually interested, as crazy as it sounds.

No guts, no glory, he reminds himself, and speaks up before he loses his nerve. "Miss Carter, I don't suppose you'd like to have coffee with me sometime?"

She regards him in silence for a moment that stretches so long he starts to wish he'd never said anything. Then she nods decisively. "Yes. I believe I would like that very much."

"Uh, wait." He knows he's got to look like a fish on a hook, but, c'mon. Who'd blame him? "You're serious? You're saying yes?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well, yeah, I mean. You look..." He gestures helplessly at her. "I mean, you're... Well, girls like you don't normally say yes to guys like me," he finishes, lamely.

Her gaze softens and she leans in like she's imparting a secret. "Perhaps you've simply been asking the wrong girl," she says. "Is tomorrow, say seven, good for you?"

He swallows, gives a rapid nod. "Yeah, that's... That'd be great. I'll meet you anywhere you want."

She names a coffee shop in Bushwick, then gives him her number, which he types into his phone. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes. Absolutely," he says. He wants to pinch himself.

"Good." She reaches for the door handle, then flashes him another small smile. "Don't be late," she says, then opens the door and hops out before he can say anything else.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says to himself, just before Sam and Bucky spot him and come jogging over.

***


End file.
